


Slow Boat To Bespin

by MirrorEmpire



Category: Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:54:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorEmpire/pseuds/MirrorEmpire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a long way to Bespin . . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Boat To Bespin

**Author's Note:**

> There are two Slow Boats to Bespin. They both were written just after TESB came out in 1980, and they both appeared in GUARDIAN 3.

“You do have your moments,” Leia said as the MILLENNIUM FALCON shot out of the Imperial cruiser’s garbage and headed on its new course.  “Not many of them, but you do have them.”  She kissed Han’s cheek before sliding back to her seat.

            Han flashed a grin at her.  “I know, Your Wor--”

            She glared at him.

            His grin widened.  “I know, I do, I really do, don’t I?”  Leia reluctantly smiled back, unable to resist his contagious delight in his own cleverness.

            There was a roar from the intercom.  Han turned back to it.  “Chewie?  No, that’s okay.  Just stay down there and see if you can do anything about that damn drive.”

            “Bralrhigashn--”

            “Listen, chum,” said Han, his voice heavy with meaningful menace, “I said stay out of here ’n--”

            There was a hooting growl from Chewbacca.

            “Now listen here, Chewie--”  Han was interrupted by a few sharp barks from Chewbacca, followed by a crashing noise and then silence.  “Wish he’d stop throwing things at the speakers,” Han muttered.

            Leia eyed him suspiciously.  Han smiled guilelessly back.  Then he cast a disgusted look at the silent form of C-3PO, flipped a couple of switches on the instrument panels, punched a button, and swiveled around to face Leia.

            “Relax, sweetheart, it’s gonna be a long ride.”

            “At sublight speed, I should think so,” she responded.  “How long is long?”

            Han shrugged.  “Couple days, maybe.”

            She could almost hear his follow-up thought:  _If nothing else goes wrong._   It only echoed her own fears.  She shook her head.  “I suppose that means a week, at least.  Well, I only hope this flying junkheap of yours holds together.”  With a sigh, she reached out to C-3PO’s neck.

            “Hey, don’t do that.”  Han caught her wrist.  “What d’ya want to turn on that yellow squawk-box for, Your Worship?  A chaperone?”

            She tried to wrench free.  “Stop it.”

            “Can’t you say anything else?” said Han disgustedly.  “There’s just one way to shut you up, isn’t there?”  With that, he grabbed her waist and hauled her onto his lap.  Ignoring her vigorous protests, he began kissing her with skill and passion.

            This time, however, she had no intention of weakly melting into his practiced embrace.  She relaxed only until he loosened his prisoning grip on her arms, then punched him as hard as she could on his ribs.  Considering her cramped position and their padding of clothes, it wasn’t much of a blow, but Han did push her back, wounded surprise on his face.

            “All right, Your Untouchableness.  Maybe I was wrong.”  He shoved her off his lap, nearly sending her to the floor.  “Well, the hell with it.  You don’t even _hit_ good.”

            Leia’s eyes lit with anger.  “Oh, is that so?”  She let herself fall back to his lap with a thud.  “Well, Captain--”  She took his head in her hands, leaned forward against his chest, and fitted her mouth carefully to his.  _This time, hotshot, you’re the one in for a surprise, damn you._  Calling up every bit of skill she’d ever learned or imagined, she didn’t release him from the kiss until they were both in danger of passing out from lack of oxygen.

            As she sat back, breathing heavily, she noted with satisfaction the glazed look of Han’s eyes.  “As I said before, you don’t know everything about women, Captain Solo.”

            “Yeah, Princess,” he said, the stunned expression changing to one of his most attractive smiles.  “Yeah, maybe you’re right at that.”

            Leia wasn’t sure which of them initiated the next embrace.  After five minutes, it didn’t matter.  Neither said another word for a considerable time, concentrating on amorous exploration of each other’s mouths.

            Then Han’s fingers caressed her throat and strayed down to the closing of her jumpsuit.  Her lips never leaving his, Leia arched her body to let him slide his hand down the fastening to her waist, breaking the seal and opening the jumpsuit.  His hand moved to her breast.

            Leia was rudely jolted from her absorption with Han’s lips as he once again pushed her back.  She opened her eyes.  There was a peculiar expression of bafflement on Han’s face.  She glanced down at the hand he had cupped over her breast.

            “Aw, now, Leia--”  He tugged unhappily at the fabric of her undergarment.

            “But Han,” she protested, touching the neck of her tight-fitting, fire-red thermal underwear, “it was fifty below on Hoth!”

            “Yeah, but--”

            “I thought you were the galaxy’s greatest smuggler, hotshot.”  Leia deliberately ran a gloved finger very lightly over Han’s lips, down his neck.  “If you can’t even get past thermals, I’m not sure I want you running cargo for us.”

            “Listen, lady, there ain’t a blockade in this galaxy I can’t get by.”  There was an authentic ring of hurt pride in Han’s voice.

            Leia raised her eyebrows skeptically.  “Prove--”

            The remainder of the sentence was muffled as Han’s mouth covered hers.  In another minute, he demonstrated that he was as efficient in getting past long underwear as he was in running an Imperial barricade.

            Curving to his caresses, Leia set her own hands to the task of opening Han’s loose shirt.  This done, she slipped her hand under the shirt, indulging her desire to fondle him in turn.

            “Leia?”  Han’s voice was soft, exciting, on her ear.  “I don’t know quite how to say this—but would’ja mind taking off your gloves first?”

            Flushing, Leia pulled back, sitting straight and stiff on his lap.  She yanked her gloves off and stuffed them in her pocket.  “Satisfied?”

            “Not yet,” Han said, his voice as seductive as his hands.  “Come back here.”

            A timeless period followed when nothing mattered but his arms around her and his hands and lips on her mouth and skin.  For one shining span of passion, she could forget danger, responsibility, and grief, willingly abandoning herself to the feelings Han was so proficiently arousing, and responding to him in kind.

            His lips slid along her throat, shifted to her ear.  “Leia,” he breathed.  “Leia, I--”

            There was a loud growl and a slam on the cockpit door.  Startled, the mood broken, Leia leaped up and Han jumped, eliciting cries of “ouch!” from both and a string of expletives from Han as they banged into various portions of the cramped cockpit.

            “Oh--” Leia said, hastily pulling down her thermal undershirt and refastening her jumpsuit.

            “Yeah,” said Han, a look of utter frustration on his face.  “Goddamn it, Chewie, what the hell do you want now?”

            Another growl and snarl.  “No, I’ll be right down there,” said Han, stuffing his shirt back into the waistband of his jeans.  There was a short bark from Chewbacca, to which Han yelled back, “What the hell d’ya think?  Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’!  Nothing worse than a smart-aleck Wookie.”

            Leia giggled, more as a release from tension than anything else.  “Han--”

            He whirled around, holding up his hand.  “I don’t want to hear it”

            “But Han, I--”

            But he had hit a button on the control panel and was out the door.

            “—really think you should tuck in the back of your shirt,” Leia finished.  She shook her head, smiling ruefully.

            Then she slowly and carefully sat down in the pilot’s chair.  She tucked a strand of hair back into her braid, straightened her jumpsuit, and took a deep breath.  She stared out at the brilliant stars.  Calm, that was what she needed to be.  Calm and controlled.  It was a long way to Bespin.

            _“Oh, shit!”_ she said, slamming her hands down on the instrument panel.

#

            Gods, but it felt good to get out of that white jumpsuit!  Free of jumpsuit and boots, Leia stretched luxuriously.  Glancing again at the door, she yanked off the long-sleeved thermal undershirt.  Clad only in the snug ankle-length thermal underpants, she sat on the edge of the narrow bunk and lifted her hands to her braided hair.

            She heard the door open, then close again.  She did not turn back to face it.  “What are you doing here?”

            “Aw, c’mon, Your Worship.”  Han’s voice was close.  “Admit it, you were expecting me.”

            “No.”  She kept her gaze fixed on the far wall.

            The mattress sagged a bit as Han sat down beside her.  His finger traced lightly but deliberately down her spine.  “Then why’d you leave the door unlocked?” he asked softly.

            He put his hands on her shoulders, gently turning her to face him.  She was not particularly surprised to see that the only thing he had on was his jeans.  His fingers tightened on her bare shoulders.  Leia set her hands flat on his chest and searched his face, finding in it no trace of his usual mockery.

            “Han, I don’t know--”

            “’s all right, Princess.  I do.”  With that, he bent and kissed her.

            There was no urgency to the caress, only warming skill and care.  He didn’t try to pull her close, apparently content to convey sensation through lips alone.  His hands never even left her shoulders.

            When they broke the kiss, Leia inhaled sharply, shaking her head.  “Han, I--  This is nothing but—but passion, Han.  It’s not--”

            “You got something against it, Princess?”  Han’s voice and hands were tender but insistent.  “Y’know, you look better in red long-johns than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

            “And you’ve seen a lot, I suppose?”

            “That’s right,” Han said amiably.  His voice dropped to a seductive whisper.  “Leia--”

            “Yes?”  Her own voice had softened.

            “There’s one thing I’ve wanted from you for a long time, you know.”  He leaned forward.

            “And what’s that?”  Leia found that she too was whispering.  If she had just laid herself open to a sardonic wisecrack, she’d kill him.

            “Leia.”  Han’s mouth nearly touched hers.  “Your hair.  Let your hair down, Leia.  Please?”  The last word was almost lost as their lips met.

            His hands slid from her shoulders, moving lovingly down until they rested on the curve of her waist.  Letting her lips cling to Han’s, Leia put her hands to the thick braid of her hair.  Unpinning it while kissing was awkward, but she managed, pulling and shaking the heavy mass of hair free of its confining braid.  It fell around her to her hips, soft against her back.

            Han pulled away to look at her with admiration.  “Oh, _yeah.”_

            Leia ducked her head, suddenly, idiotically, shy.  “I had to take it down anyway.”

            “Sure,” Han said, running a hand down her hair.

            “It needs to be brushed out,” she said, feeling breathless.  “In—in stories, women are always unbinding their hair and it’s like a cloud of silk.  But when you’ve had it braided for--”

            “Looks damn fine to me,” Han said warmly.  He twined his hands in her hair.  “Damn fine.  You should let it down more often.”

            “It’s hard to--”  She stopped as Han tilted her head back and began kissing her neck, the tip of his tongue tracing the vein of her throat.  She shivered, put her hands on his hard-muscled chest again.  “Hard to—to run a revolution with your hair hanging around your hips and getting--”

            Han raised his head until his mouth touched her ear.  “Gonna make you forget about that damn rebellion for one night, Princess.”

            Even if only for an hour, to forget the fighting and dying--  Leia shivered again, then suddenly wrapped her arms around Han, pressing her breasts to the warmth of his chest, her cheek against his shoulder.  “I can’t.  I can never--”

            The next moment Han had them both flat on the bunk.  “Now listen, an’ listen good, ’cause I’m only gonna say this once.”  His expression as she looked at her held compassion as well as desire.  “There’s a time and a place for everything.”  His hand went to the waistband of her underslacks.  “And this--” he began easing the garment over her hips, “—ain’t the time for--”

            Leia laced her fingers behind his head and pulled him close to kiss him.  She shifted to let him slide her underslacks down further.  “If you think this means I love you,” she said against his mouth, “you’re wrong.  It’s only--”

            “I know, I know,” he said.  He rolled until she lay half over him.  Leia took advantage of this to kick her underslacks off.  As Han’s nails went carefully over the lines and curves of her back, she once more set her mouth over his.  And now she was able to reach the fastening of his jeans.  There was no reason he should have all the fun of exploration.

            “The bunk’s too narrow,” she said, pausing.  “We’re going to fall out.”

            “Like hell,” Han told her.  “Just keep going.  _I’m_ going to do the worrying and take care of the details tonight.”

            The familiar mocking grin was on his face, but his hazel eyes still held that peculiar look of sympathetic understanding.  Leia suddenly found herself blushing hotly, overcome by a chaotic mixture of emotions, a confusion she relieved by biting Han’s shoulder.  That led to a wrestling match, and they almost _did_ fall out of the bunk.

            After that brief but interesting interlude, Leia returned to her task of removing Han’s jeans.

            Not being the expert in the field of clothing removal under awkward circumstances that Han obviously was, it took Leia several minutes to separate Han and jeans.  Clothing finally disposed of, she discovered that Han was also a master of the slow, sensual tease.

            Forget the revolution?  After half an hour of this it was a wonder she could remember her own name.  Just once, to have total pleasure, without thought or interruption—

            “Han?  Han!”

            “’n I always thought _I_ talked too much,” he said.  “Princess Leia Worshipful Organa, don’t you ever shut up?”

            “Han, where’s 3PO?”

            He released her and sat up.  “What the hell kind of question is that at a time like this?  Sometimes, Princess, you--”

            Leia put her hand on his thigh.  “I’m serious, Han.  Where?”

            “Still turned off ’n up in the cockpit.  Why?”  Then comprehension gleamed in his eyes, and he grinned.  “Don’t worry, that droid ain’t about to come nattering in to interrupt this time.”

            Leia reached up to him and he slid back down into her arms.  “Chewie isn’t going to suddenly bang on the door, is he?” she asked.

            “Not if he wants to keep his fur on, he won’t,” Han assured her, nuzzling her ear.

            “And Han--”

            He took a handful of her hair and held it over her mouth.  “Are you going to stop arguing?”

            She nodded meekly.  Han brushed her hair back and shifted until they lay facing each other, pressed closely together.  Before he began on anything else, Leia lifted her head from his arm and tugged gently on his hair.  When he obligingly tilted his head, she set her mouth to his ear, outlining it with her tongue and lips.

            “Han,” she breathed as his hand began moving down her body,  “Han, how long until we--”

            Han groaned, grabbed her head in his hands, and shook it.  “Damn it woman, don’t you _ever_ stop talking?”

            “—get to Bespin?” Leia continued with as much dignity as possible.

            “Not long enough, at this rate,” Han muttered.

            The sight of his face was too much for Leia.  Giggling, she ducked her face into the curve of his shoulder.

            “I’m glad you think it’s so funny, Your Highnessness,” Han said.  “Now c’mon, Leia, cut that out.”

            She turned her head just enough to say, “Make me,” before a fresh spasm of laughter shook her.

            “I’m _tryin’_ to, believe me, I’m tryin’,” Han said.

            At the indignation in his voice, Leia propped herself on her elbow, letting her hair fall over him.  “Very,” she agreed.

            “Jokes like this I really need,” Han said with a look of incredible long-suffering.  He added threateningly, “I’m very _what_ , Your Highness?”

            “Very good,” Leia said hastily.  She kissed the thin scar on his chin.  “Very.”

            Han gave her the slow, wicked grin she’d both loved and hated since she’d first met him.  “Good?”  He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head down until their noses touched.  “Princess, you ain’t seen _nothin’_ yet.”

            Leia smiled sweetly and nipped his nose.  That was the last moment of the night that could be even remotely called rational.

#

            If all the gods were kind, they would reach Bespin tomorrow.  _And I’m sure Han will be able to con this Lando ‘friend’ of his into fixing the hyperdrive.  And we’ll be to the rendezvous point in no time._   Leia stared into the darkness.  Safe—and then Han would be gone.  This was the last night she would spend lying on his chest, his arms holding her securely even in sleep.

            Leia’s arms tightened on Han as she struggled with an overwhelming sense of jealous possession.  _No, he’s mine.  I won’t let him go, damn him!_  With cold clarity, her own words came back to haunt her.  _He must choose his own path . . . no one can choose it for him.  No one . . . ._

            “Oh, Han,” she said softly.

            She had forgotten his outlaw’s suspicion and superb senses.  He was awake immediately, his muscles tense.  His hand touched her hair, and he relaxed under her.  “Leia.”

            “Is that a question or a comment?” she asked.  Folding her hands on his chest, she propped her chin on her fingers and tried to see through the dark to his face.

            “You really think I’m gonna answer a question like that, Princess?”  There was amusement under the tone of injured innocence.

            Leia shook her head slowly, letting her hair slide over them.  “No, I’d never expect you to answer a loaded question—Solo.”

            There was silence for a minute.  Then Han said softly, “So you’d never ask them—Princess?”

            “That’s right,” said Leia sharply.  Then she put her arms around him again, pressing her face against his neck.

            “Leia.”  Han began stroking her hair.  “I got Jabba the Hutt on my tail, you know.”

            “And I have a revolution to run,” she whispered.

            “Yeah.”

            Silence, darkness, and the warmth of Han against her, his hand stroking the length of her long hair.  _But no commitments.  Not from me, not from him._   It was better—easier—that way.  It had to be.

            His hand on her hair stopped.  “Leia--”  Then he paused.

            “Yes, Han?” she said after a moment.

            “Leia, there’s something--” Han sounded almost as if he were forcing the words past his lips.  “Something I want to tell you, before--”

            “Before you leave?  You don’t have to tell me anything.”  Nothing they said would make it easier, only more difficult.

            “Yes, I do.”  He wound a hand in her hair, tilted her head.  His lips brushed her cheek, then just touched her lips.  “Leia, I--”

            In desperation, Leia stopped his mouth with hers, kissing him fiercely.  Her arms held him as tightly as chains.  “I know,” she said against his mouth as they paused between kiss and kiss.  Her breath caught on a half-sob.  “I know.”

 

# # #

           


End file.
